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And for a moment, that pisses me off.
Then I remember I have zero claim to the light-haired woman.
So instead of getting pissy, I force myself to get back to work.
CHAPTERSIX
Sophia
When Emina convincedme we should go out to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, I wasn’t too sure. Even though the city does the holiday big and there are ample places to celebrate, the best, hands down, would be O’Gallaghers but I was maybe a touch nervous—cough, embarrassed, cough—about running into Jake.
I spent all of yesterday going over Thursday’s events.
Well, after texting Josh and letting him know we were over. The bastard didn’t even have the balls to text me back. Whatever.
I digress.
After I texted Josh and called things off, the previous night replayed over and over in my head—and during one of the thousand recaps, I realized I was no longer focusing on the “Megan and Shaina” part, but instead, on the Jake parts.
It certainly hasn’t helped that I have his sweatshirt and it’s spent the last day mocking me from the corner of my room. I’m going to have to face him in order to give it back to him at some point. Just...maybe later than sooner.
Just like on Thursday, Emina and I walk into the city. Even if we don’t stay out late, it’s probably safer to walk—we can’t control everyone else on the road after a night of celebration. Then, once we get to the authentic Irish pub, I’m relieved that our first contact at O’Gallaghers isn’t Jake.
“Happy St. Patrick’s weekend, ladies,” the bouncer-like guy says when we make our way up the three steps to the propped open door. He has a clean-cut beard and wears a dark green shirt, the O’Gallaghers barley emblem across his chest. “Nice shirts.”
When Emina broke into my room earlier, she threw a green t-shirt at me and told me to put it on. It says “Fuck You” on it, but the F is crossed out with fake Sharpie, with an L in its place and a Y at the end, changing “Fuck” to “Lucky.” There’s also a Sharpie-drawn four-leaf clover after “you.” I love it.
Emina’s shirt is funny too, although I’m glad she’s the one wearing it.
Hers proudly proclaims she puts the double-D in “Paddy.”
It’s a great shirt...but I don’t have double-Ds to support it. Even if I did, that shirt is probably a little “loud” for my taste.
The door guy asks for our IDs and after we show them, he hands us both a wooden coin and a golden coin. “Gold for not breaking Irish rules. Patty with Ts is a girl,” he chuckles. “You can use it today for one alcoholic drink of your choice. Wooden one is for dressing festive. You can hold on to it for a drink or app at another date, or drop it into one of the prize buckets.”
Emina grins. “Oh, prizes? I never win anything. What kind of prizes?” I can’t help but smile at her. Never wins...but that doesn’t stop her from trying.
“Here, let me take you ladies over. Name’s Saint. And you both are...?”
“I’m Emina. This is Sophia.”
He snaps his thick fingers, his smile wide beneath the dark beard/mustache that covers his face. “Ah. Yes. The non-bachelorette party. You’re the sad one,” he adds, pointing at me.
I open my mouth but nothing comes out. Instead, I grimace and shrug.
“It was a bad night,” Emina says for me. “She could use a good prize.”
“You were watching the game, right?” Saint asks, walking us across the pub floor, over near a small stage, two dart boards, and three pinball machines.
“I was. I love hockey.”
“She’sobsessed. She used to play.”
“Long time ago,” I brush off. “I just watch now.”
“That’s cool,” Saint answers. “I don’t know a damn thing about it, but I like the guys enough.” He coughs and I swear his cheeks maybe even get ruddy, but it’s a little dim in here, so I could be wrong. “Friends. They come in here a lot and we’re all friendly. I very much like women. Anyway. One of the prizes is a box at an Enforcers game. That seems up your alley.”
At the table with buckets, he takes the time to tell us about each bucket even though all three have small signs on them. It’s as if he’s purposely spending time with us. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s flirting with Emina.
